A/N: Rated for angst and implied suicide.The lyrics are to Avril Lavigne's I'm With You. (Yes, I know the song's not about suicide, but I decided to give it a bit of a twist.)Paragraphs in italics are a letter being read/remembered throughout the story. Centered text are the song lyrics.

Do you know that you were my best friend? Hell, let's be honest here, you were my only friend. I really did like you, you know—trusted you even. I told you things that I never told another living being; how it always felt as if something was missing from life, and how I felt as if I just didn't belong. You said you felt the same way, but that was probably a lie, just like everything else you told me. Little did I know that you ridiculed me behind my back. I never even suspected it. It must have been because I actually thought that you were always behind me, every step of the way. . . . I guess that's why I never even saw it coming when you plunged that dagger into my back. Figuratively speaking.

She blinked away tears that threatened to spill over, threatened to become lost in the rain that poured down around her; she didn't want to lose her tears to the rain. Beneath her, below the wooden planks of the park bridge she stood on, the stream threatened to overflow its banks in the out of season downpour. The letter she held was shaking slightly and she tried to steady her hands so she could read on before the words became lost to the rain, smeared beyond recognition. "I never meant . . ." she started to speak aloud, her voice shaking, before remembering that she was alone—completely alone. She shouldn't have been. She was to have met her friend here—her best friend, her only real friend.

I'm standing on a bridgeI'm waitin' in the darkI thought that you'd be here by nowThere's nothing but the rainNo footsteps on the groundI'm listening but there's no sound

Did you feel even just a little guilty when you realized that I had overheard what you and those other jerks had been saying about me? I don't suppose you did; I heard the laughter as I ran from that place. I'll bet you never even gave me a second glance. You once said that you hated people who talked about others behind their backs, that they were cowards if they couldn't say what they had to say to a person's face. . . . Do you hate yourself now, you coward? Liar. I don't think you even really knew what I was going through, now that I think of it. You would have no idea what it's like to be completely alone in the world—alone even though there were people all around you. You had no idea.

She shivered as a tear finally rolled down her cheek. It was cold and she was soaked to the bone. She had never felt so completely abandoned before. I knew exactly how you felt you fool, she thought harshly, angry more at herself than anything else. It was all a misunderstanding. Why didn't you give me the chance to explain? She crumpled up the letter, it was beyond repair anyway, and tossed it into the fast-moving stream. It didn't matter if it was gone, she had read the letter over so many times that it continued to roll through her mind as she left the bridge and began to follow the muddy path through the park; it was the path that they would have followed had they met as usual. She passed a few people as she went. It didn't matter, she was still alone. And it didn't matter that she should have been home hours ago, there was no one left to care if she was gone.

Isn't anyone tryin' to find me?Won't somebody come take me homeIt's a damn cold nightTrying to figure out this lifeWon't you take me by the handTake me somewhere newI don't know who you areBut I, I'm with you

Once upon a time you told me something that I really took to heart. It made me feel as if there was hope for me yet. Do you know what I'm talking about? Do you even remember? You said that for every person born, there's someone out there—someone that you were simply meant to meet. Someone who'd have an irrevocable impact on your life once you finally met them. If. . . . If you met them, because whether or not you met that person would depend on decisions you made. You could avoid this meeting or welcome it with open arms. And whether it would turn out for better or worse was something that you couldn't know until it was too late, and the result would be beyond your ability to control or change; for good or evil it would be something you'd never be able to forget. If you avoided this meeting, maybe you'd avoid disaster, but maybe you'd miss out on the greatest thing to ever happen to you. Well, the way I figured it my life couldn't get any worse. . . .

Staring at the ground as she walked she let her feet take her wherever they decided. Wandering the paths through the park, and then the streets of the city she paid no attention to the setting or the people around her. They didn't matter to her now—never had really. She hadn't realized that something that she had once said could have been important to anyone; she couldn't believe that something she had said had really mattered. Lost in her thoughts she didn't know where she was going, nor did she care. She just didn't want to be alone in the crowds anymore. She had to find someone . . . anyone.

I'm looking for a placeI'm searching for a faceIs anybody here I know'Cause nothing's goin' rightAnd everything's a messAnd no one likes to be alone

That was my hope, you know—that things couldn't get any worse, and therefore they could only get better. If only things would have gotten better. . . . I suppose, the way things were going, that was simply too much to hope for. It seems that there's always a way for things to get worse, even when you think that there's nothing else to lose, nothing worse that can possibly happen. . . . Fate has a twisted sense of humor, don't you think?

She swallowed the sob that was threatening to escape. She didn't realize that she had stopped walking until she looked up and saw, through her tears, the building that they had been living in. Diverting her gaze quickly she started running; that building wasn't a place that she could go to anymore, it couldn't be home, she wouldn't stay there. She ran blindly through the streets, not caring where she went. Anywhere was better than there. She wished that she had somewhere to go that she could call home; somewhere safe and warm where she wouldn't be alone anymore. Was that such a difficult thing to ask for?

Isn't anyone tryin' to find me?Won't somebody come take me homeIt's a damn cold nightTrying to figure out this lifeWon't you take me by the handTake me somewhere newI don't know who you areBut I, I'm with you

But there's always a way to get the last laugh on Fate. When you take your life into your own hands, that's when you beat Fate. . . . It's the only way. In death you finally escape the plans that Fate has made for you. And isn't it better in some ways, to choose the method of your own demise? Our lives are built by the choices we make, so why should they not be ended how and when we choose? But there are so many choices to pick from, and I know that this is one topic you never even pretended to agree with me on, so I won't waste what little time I have continuing to try to convince you that it's better to have a choice in the end. That I know it's better is enough for me; your opinion no longer matters.

Selfish. That's how she thought of suicide. Living your life, wishing for death when so many others were dying, wishing for life. Taking for granted what so many others had so little of left. Never thinking of how many others would have given anything to have what you have. Life was a gift given with no receipt and no guarantee...You have to make the most of it while you have it, not wish you had never gotten it at all. Suicide was selfish, not thinking of the pain you might cause to those who had to live on without you. You selfish jerk...Why did you have to leave me all alone? she thought, trying unsuccessfully to bury her pain with anger. In her mind she heard all the arguments they had thrown at one another, and all the while neither of them had changed their minds. Now she was left to wonder which of them had been right. It was an argument, she knew, that would never be resolved. Not now.

Oh why is everything so confusingMaybe I'm just out of my mindIt's a damn cold nightTrying to figure out this lifeWon't you take me by the handTake me somewhere newI don't know who you areBut I, I'm with you

You've probably guessed by now the reason behind this letter. . . . After all, you knew me so well. I never did have much patience with life. Really I just wanted you to know that, for a short while, you made my life bearable, and for that I feel that I should thank you. For a brief time I had that hope that life could get better, that I'd meet that 'someone' you spoke of and that somehow everything would turn out all right in the end, and that time of hope, no matter how brief, is something I'll never forget. Maybe I did meet that 'someone' after all, for better, or worse. . . .

Out of breath she stopped running, sitting down on the chilly, wet sidewalk. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs, shivering in the cold. Lowering her head so that her hair veiled her face she wept openly, unable to hold back the tears any longer. People passed on the street, but if they saw her they didn't pause; she was all alone. There was nowhere for her to go, no one to care. . . . But maybe. . . . She looked up and the warm, salty tears that streaked her face were stole away by the cold rain that assailed her. Maybe she was wrong. . . .

Take me by the handTake me somewhere newI don't know who you areBut I, I'm with youI'm with you

One way or the other, this is good-bye. Maybe, in the end, this is what Fate had planned for me all along. . . . Wouldn't that be funny? I wish I could think of something witty or memorable to finish this letter off, something that would mean something, something to be remembered by. . . . But that just wouldn't be my style now would it? When you live your life alone there's no one to remember you—not the way you want to be remembered. And after it all, when everything is said and done, all you really leave behind is memories that you can't control. Maybe you'll be remembered for the good, maybe the bad. In remembrance of the good times, whether they be true or false, may you meet that someone who will change your life forever. . . . For better, or worse.

Maybe . . . there was someone . . . someone out there yet that she was meant to meet. She swallowed back her sobs and looked upwards at the dark, clouded sky. The rain clouds seemed to bear down on the earth, trying to smother it, but she knew that, when the clouds dispersed as they always did, the sky would seem to stretch endlessly in every direction, offering endless possibilities. It was possible that her life would get worse, there was always that chance, but it was also possible that things would improve. . . . After all, in all the lonely, empty-seeming world there had to be someone out there, for good or ill. Nothing lasts forever, she reminded herself. Not the rain—not even loneliness.

Take me by the handTake me somewhere newI don't know who you areBut I, I'm with youI'm with youI'm with you. . . .

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